


Evocative

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Smutuary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: The sounds of early morning London could not be completely avoided, even on the top floor of The Ritz. Eyes still closed and a half-smile on her face, Phryne stretched, her limbs reaching across the empty bed. She peeked one eye open, her smile broadening at the haphazardly stacked pillows on the other side of the bed and the tell-tale indent left behind.Reunion smut for Smutuary, with some excellent fan art by @letitflytoapril





	Evocative

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago, the very talented [@letitflytoapril](https://letitflytoapril.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr suggested a collaborative fanart/fanfic project for [Smutuary](https://ohrosewhatsinaname.tumblr.com/post/182110065731/the-holidays-are-over-ficathon-posting-is-winding), and I leapt on that idea so fast it's obscene. And the result... well, it's some utterly gorgeous fan art (you can see just the art on the artist's Tumblr [HERE](https://letitflytoapril.tumblr.com/post/182719197915/my-part-of-collaboration-with-firesign23-for)) and a story inspired by the prompt "Evocative"

## Evocative

* * *

The sounds of early morning London could not be completely avoided, even on the top floor of The Ritz. Eyes still closed and a half-smile on her face, Phryne stretched, her limbs reaching across the empty bed. She peeked one eye open, her smile broadening at the haphazardly stacked pillows on the other side of the bed and the tell-tale indent left behind.

Rolling onto her stomach, she pressed her face against the soft cotton. Breathed it in, grateful for her excellent sense of smell—every lungful caught a hint of Jack. There was an unapologetic honesty in his scent, the notes complex and unexpected but immediately recognisable. 

An absurd bubble of joy welled in her chest, and she buried her face deeper into the pillow to stifle her laughter. He had come.

* * *

The knock at the door the previous evening had surprised her, the man on the other side even more so. Fingers worrying the brim of his hat as she stared at him. One moment. Two. Three.

“Am I—”

She kissed him, her hand sliding over the round of his shoulder and pulling him inside.

“You’re early,” she said.

“Is that a problem?”

She took his hat instead of replying, hanging it carefully and then turning back for his coat. Felt the surprising heft of it, the slight coarseness of the wool and the slip of silk lining, as she placed it on the peg. Ran her hand down the fabric, marveling at the solidity. She turned back to him, saw the curiosity in his eyes. 

“No problem, Jack,” she said, “you simply surprised me.” 

She stepped closer to him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, catching his familiar scent in the air between them. Let her eyes drift shut, every inch of her body aware of his proximity, yearning to cross the distance; he’d come and they would, but still there was disbelief, some small certainty of an interruption, a universal contrivance to keep them apart.

His hand found her waist but didn’t pull her closer, his thumb rubbing her blouse absently, and if they were to be interrupted, let them; she surged up, cradling his head as she kissed him, the bite of tongue and lips and the little surprised _noise_ he made at her actions sparking certainty in her gut.

“Come to bed,” she murmured, breaking away to nuzzle at his lips, his nose, determined to keep touching him.

“It’s early.”

She pulled away slightly, trying not to laugh at the mischief in his expression.

“Is that a problem?”

He glanced at his watch, pretending to study the dials; she reached up to tug at his tie, loosening it slightly, slipping her fingers beneath it to unfasten the top button, drifting those same fingers up his throat, watching the sip of air he took as he tried to appear unmoved. Then he looked at her, a smile breaking across his face.

“‘You know, Miss Fisher, I really don’t believe it is.”

Giddy in delight, she took his hand in hers, sliding from his wrist to palm to fingertips as she laced them together. She guided him towards the bedroom, kissing, touching, indulging in him. His response was eager, playful, steady; when his hand slipped beneath her blouse to cup her breast she whimpered, the sound vibrating in her throat; she pulled him closer as they stumbled into the bedroom, their touches gaining a hungry edge.

His jacket was flung away without regard, then she paused to look at him; in shirtsleeves, tie loose, hair rumpled, pupils blown wide. Utterly exposed.

“Oh Jack,” she whispered, the energy shifting between them once again. 

Her hands shook as she reached up to unknot the tie completely, unbutton his waistcoat, slide his braces off his shoulders; he stood, steadfast and patient, as she undressed him with immense tenderness. She found, somehow, that she needed to do it. Needed him to know… She kissed him, slower this time but no less passionate; he began to move again, gathering her blouse in his hands and lifting it over her head, his breath catching at the sight of her camiknickers. She kissed the corner of his mouth playfully, that sweet spot that held his most solemn smiles, then pulled away. 

“I should take care of…”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Stay here,” she said firmly, laughing at his wry smile in response.

“Not sure where I’m likely to go,” he said, gesturing to his unclothed body. 

A deliberately salacious once-over and she stepped away, heading towards the en suite to retrieve and place her diaphragm. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, hair in disarray and lipstick gone. Utterly exposed. Her fingers touched her mouth, the feel of his kisses still lingering there, and smiled. The logistics taken care of, she wrapped a robe around her, the black silk slightly chilled, gooseflesh breaking out across her body, and padded back into the bedroom.

He was standing where she’d left him; the carpet was plush beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room to wrap her arms around his neck. Kissed him slowly, not with the intent of anything more—though they would, eventually—but merely for the pleasure of his lips on hers, the slip of his tongue and the palpable curve of his smile. Between their bodies his cock twitched; she smirked and loosened her hold on his neck, smoothing one hand down to stroke it—his hand stopped her after the first touch, lifting her hand up to press a kiss to her wrist instead. Then he spun her around without warning, her back against his body and his lips on her neck, hands roaming; she gave a frustrated groan, wanting to touch him properly, see him properly. She’d waited long enough. 

“Please?” he whispered, the hoarseness of his voice cutting through her. “I just need—” he laughed against her skin and she shivered.”You overwhelm me, Miss Fisher.” 

His finger skimmed beneath her robe and up her inner thigh and she moaned. She would willingly capitulate to just about anything when he sounded like that, touched her like that. Temporarily, at least. Call it curiosity. 

At her nod, he encouraged her towards the bed; she reached back to grip his neck with one hand, the pulse of his carotid artery beneath her palm anchoring her to this moment. Made a disgruntled noise when she had to release him a moment later to sprawl on the mattress, immediately searching for him once more; he caught her hands instead, lifting them onto the pillows above her head and holding them there with one hand, leaning over to tease the lobe of her ear. 

“This is alright?”

She turned her head, read the softness on his face, so counter to his seeming assertions. Curious contradictions. 

She gave a cheeky wiggle, biting back the smile when he groaned.

“More than, Jack,” she breathed. “If you think you can follow through.”

He arched an eyebrow and smirked at her challenge, then began to trail open-mouthed kisses down her spine. Warm brushes of his lips against her skin, the press of a tongue against the vertebrae, the nudge of his nose when a particular point made her shiver. Down, down, slow and teasing, until she was writhing against the sheets, desperate for any friction, any relief to the aching desire he was building inside her. 

He moved, nudging her legs apart to settle between them, the weight of his body lying over her as he kissed the back of her neck once more. The brush of his cock once, twice, before sinking into her. His slow, steady breath on her ear and his chin on her shoulder—it felt so _close_ , she wasn’t expecting it to feel this close—and the slide of flesh until she was all sensation. The grip of the sheets in her hands, the stubble against her cheek, the cant of her hips and the curling of her toes urging him deeper, the blinding pleasure that was building, building, his hand slipping from her hips to stroke her clit, obliterating in a flash, ripping a wail from her throat. She was still in the aftermath of orgasm, trembling thighs and panted breath and so _much_ pleasure, when he followed her over, nothing more than a grunt and sudden stillness and then a kiss to her shoulder, a laugh. 

It was a beautiful sound.

After a moment he slid to the side and she rolled over to face him, reaching up to stroke his cheek, his brow, his ear; his eyes drifted shut at her touch, and she took the opportunity to kiss the corner of his mouth once more, her tongue darting out. He gave a resigned sigh, the one that spoke of amusement and acceptance and fondness; she’d missed it. 

“You know, Jack, you’re full of surprises.”

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she laughed.

He gave a small smile, eyes still closed in contentment. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“And that was…?”

“Delightful.” She paused, trying to hide her smirk. “Though I’ll admit that as many ways as I’d imagined this evening, that particular arrangement hadn’t occurred to me as a possibility.”

His eyes opened at that, and he looked rather endearingly sheepish. 

“Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely certain I could acquit myself admirably when you were kissing me like that.”

“Ahh,” she said, nodding sagely and trying not to laugh. “Well, you did. Very admirably. Though…” she trailed a finger down his chest and looking up at him with what could best be described as an innocent pout neither one of them believed, “I do hope you don’t expect me to always keep my hands to myself?”

He chuckled, his hand reaching for her hip and sliding closer.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to the centre of her palm. “I look forward to seeing what they can do.”

* * *

They’d spent hours after that, talking, touching. Shared whispered secrets and revealed desires, learning this new space, this new thing between them until they both drifted off to sleep, bodies spooned and tangled beneath the sheets. And now it was morning, the memories of the night before coursing through her, setting her blood humming with a renewed hunger, and she wondered where Jack had gone. She didn’t need to wonder long—there was a noise at the door, and she rolled over, unable to hide her smile at the sight of him. He was in pyjamas she’d bought on a lark, simply because the colour had reminded her of his eyes in firelight. Not that she’d ever admit to the reasoning.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, looking not at all repentant. Good, she never could abide that sort of shame. “My bag is at my hotel.”

“Bought with you in mind,” Phryne said with a dismissive wave, sitting up and noting the small tray in his hands. “Is that tea?”

“Room service,” he explained. “I thought you might—”

“I love you.”

She hadn’t intended to say it, had only meant it as an expression of gratitude, but there was no need to pull it back. He gave a small smile instead of replying, placing the tray with two cups and a pot on the table by her side of the bed. 

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he said, leaning over to kiss her softly.

“Mmm,” she agreed, reaching for one of the tea cups and breathing the steam in. “I rather think it is.”

 


End file.
